


Lessons

by Ammeh



Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: 7KPP Week, ADHD Character, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 07:03:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18806140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammeh/pseuds/Ammeh
Summary: When you were 15 your schedule became so filled, your parents insisted you only had time to continue studies with one of your tutors.Written for 7KPP week 2019 - Day 4, Learning





	Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> For the Learning day of 7KPP week, I just had to write of my headcanons about my nerdy SP Ambrine--that going into the Summit, she’s best known internationally for having broken down crying when her parents made her give up her tutors at 15. (The other countries clearly have Opinions on how Arland treats its women, royal tutors were certainly often important enough to go back and spread gossip in their home courts, and who could resist the urge to gossip about how tragic and oppressive your termination was?)

“But—” This can’t be happening. All of them?

Her father shakes his head. “I won’t repeat myself, Ambrine. We’ve indulged you on this, but you need to focus your attention on matters that will prove useful to your future nation.”

“As a Princess of Arland, there are certain expectations you need to meet,” her mother adds. “Expectations that we have been remiss in allowing you to neglect. At your age, Constance was far more prepared for marriage.”

She understands everything they’re not saying aloud. She has a great deal to compensate for—she’s taller than is considered becoming of a lady, of a height with some of the men in her father’s court. Her face has been called expressive, pleasant, even handsome, but never beautiful or pretty by any but the most transparent of sycophants. Her waist-length curls look lovely when her maids have finished with her, but muss up at the slightest provocation.

She knows the steps to all the formal dances, but she can’t flow into them, can’t float across a room or make artistry of her motions. She knows all the polite little things to say in conversation, but she sometimes catches herself staring off into space, and it doesn’t  _matter_  that she can repeat their last several sentences verbatim, people think she’s ignoring them. Sometimes she even  _is_ , her mind running off without her consent.

She’s too forward, has been told that her attempts at being charming cross some inscrutable line into flirtatious. Sometimes she talks too long, or makes leaps in conversation that only make sense to her. At times she misses cues that everyone else seems perfectly capable of reading, and blurts something out at the wrong time, or stands around like an idiot because she didn’t realize she was supposed to leave.

But surely she can improve on all that without giving up  _all_  her tutors.

“I—of course I’ll gladly learn whatever skills I need to fulfill my duty,” she says. “But—is it truly necessary that I completely abandon my other lessons to do so? Being well-rounded would surely make me a more appealing bride. I’m certain we could reduce the length or frequency of my current lessons—” she looks over at her tutors, gathered off to the side, for confirmation, and gets some encouraging nods. “It would force me to learn to accomplish more with my time, which is a skill I’m sure would serve me and my future household well.”

The idea of giving up all her lessons is horrifying. Her math tutor, Lady Sumie, has been teaching her the most beautiful patterns with shapes, how to calculate all sorts of measurements from the merest scraps of information. She’d promised that next they’d move onto the art of formal proofs practiced in Jiyel, had already sent for books on the topic. Her ethics and philosophy instructor, Sir Vincent, has lately taken to holding their lessons in the form of lively debates that leave her energized for hours.

Perhaps she can learn from books about the period where Corval split from the old Revairan empire, but her history tutor Mistress Pembrey brings so much more life to the telling. There are entire  _realms_  of the natural sciences she’s yet to cover with Master Brelton. She’s finally at the point where vocabulary is her main barrier to conversing in Jiyelian, and she’s barely even started learning Skaltic. It’s not as if it’s unlikely she might need to know those languages someday; that’s half of her options! And—and—the adjective declensions in Skaltic are fascinating, and she’s only just starting to get the hang of it…

“Of course you’ll continue some of your lessons,” her mother assures. “Lady Clemence tells me you still have much to learn about Revairan and Wellish ballroom and dining etiquette.”

“What of mathematics? Rhetoric? History? Language?” she asks, distress breaking her voice and making her inquiry far more abrupt than intended. “Surely those skills are just as important as my comportment at balls.”

Her father frowns. “Watch your tongue, Ambrine.”

Her mother raises a single finger. “I will allow you to continue  _one_ additional area of study. You may choose rhetoric or history. I know what you’ve been covering in your mathematics lessons of late, and it’s far outside the skills needed by a lady in your position. You need to be able to manage finances, not…design aqueducts.” Her nose twitches in a way that suggests she would be wrinkling it had she not trained herself out of such indelicate gestures. “You can learn your new country’s language after you’re married should that prove necessary. And allowing you to study the sciences at all was an indulgence, one that I am now regretting.”

She knows that, that’s why she didn’t mention them…

“It’s most important that you focus on polishing yourself and familiarizing yourself with the peerage of the other kingdoms,” the Queen continues with a firm look. “Your other studies are becoming a distraction. This is for your own benefit.”

“But—” She feels tears welling up. “I’m sure I could balance it all if you’d just allow me to try—” Her voice cracks.

“Ambrine!” her father snaps. “Decorum!”

She shouldn’t cry. She’s making a scene in front of her parents, and all her tutors are here, and Lady Sumie is such a terrible gossip, and she’ll be going back to Jiyel, and— _oh_ , she’ll be _going back to Jiyel_! The loud sob she’s been fighting down breaks free.

“History, please,” she chokes out, clutching at that boon before they retract the offer in the face of such unseemliness. “Master Amari has been missing his family in Corval and might appreciate the opportunity to return to them.”

Sobs continue to escape as she thinks of everyone she’ll be losing. Master Amari, whose tales of Corval were the closest she could feel to Constance. Master Brelton, who can’t stay on topic to save his life but always has something fascinating to share. Lady Sumie, who makes art out of numbers and finds it endearing when Ambrine unconsciously finds new and exciting ways to sit in her chair…who uses the cover of their Jiyelian lessons to share the most outrageous gossip. Sir Vincent, who likes to present moral quandaries that make her want to tear her hair out, always has a cup of strong tea waiting to help her focus. Mistress Nemar, her music tutor, who has yet to give Ambrine a straight answer on why she learned Skaltic.

There’s still so much she could learn from them.

She feels wicked for even thinking it, but if she were only expected to attend mass weekly like the peasants do, instead of every morning, she’d surely have time to continue another area of study. She knows better than to even consider voicing the thought, pushes it down like she’s attempting to push down the completely inappropriate weeping that’s overcome her.

“Very well,” her mother says stiffly, obviously mortified at the display she’s making. “You're dismissed.”

And that was that.

–

“Does that say…Sumie Lian?” Ambrine asks, squinting across the table at the latest mathematical treatise that’s just arrived in the mail for Lyon.

Lyon nods, gathers it up and hands it to her. “Yes. You know her?”

“She was…my tutor, up until I was 15. Mathematics and Jiyelian. She was probably my favorite, in retrospect, though at the time I was just upset to lose all of them”

“I heard. You cried.”

She flushes. With his general lack of interest in social affairs, she’d been hoping there was some way that story wouldn’t reach him.

“I didn’t understand  _why,_ though,” he adds.

“Why I cried?”

“Why they thought you should stop  _learning_.”

“They just…decided I was done. Needed to stop filling my head with ‘useless’ things and focus on husband acquisition.”

Lyon snorts. “That’s stupid. Any person with sense would appreciate an educated partner.”

“That’s what I told them!” Ambrine exclaims, feeling righteously vindicated, 4 years late.

“Did you want to invite her over?” Lyon segues abruptly, nodding at the treatise. “You…should have friends over when you want to. And I wouldn’t mind an opportunity to ask her some questions about her writings on the nature of infinity.”

Right. That’s…a thing she can do, now.

“I’d love to.”

And that’s that.


End file.
